With a muffled curse, Sam stuffed his phone in his pocket and strode across the room to the window, flicking back the curtain in time to see two uniformed officers walk up to Skye and Dean. Great. Not exactly the first time he'd had to bail out of a motel room, but hopefully it'd be his last.

Grabbing his bag from where he'd dropped it by the door, Sam made for the window in the bathroom. It was a tight fit, but with a little contorting, he managed to shove his lanky frame through it.

Hitching the trap of his backpack up higher on a shoulder, he took a quick look around before taking off down the alley and around the corner. With any luck, the cops would let Skye go and Dean… well, Dean could take care of himself. Besides, it wasn't like he could do anything about it. Nothing to do now but follow orders like a good little soldier and no doubt they'd all meet up again at some point or another. Now, to find a phone book...


"Alright, Miss Bleu, sign here and you're free to go." Officer Reyes handed Skyler a clipboard with a single piece of paper on it, giving the younger girl a stern look as she offered up a pen, "And remember what I said about hitching rides, you're lucky you didn't end up in a ditch somewhere."

"Yes, ma'am." Jotting down her signature, Skye signed the receipt acknowledging that she'd gotten back everything Cooper had taken off her, giving the cute blonde a sheepish grin. "I promise, no more strange men in shiny cars." Because just the one was enough, thanks.

Grabbing her knapsack, she slung a strap over her shoulder and headed out, keeping her head down and her hands in her pockets until she was halfway down the block. Breathing a little easier once she could no longer see the police station, she straightened, taking a minute to get her bearings. She'd studied the California maps on the way up, specifically Jericho and the surrounding area, and if her memory was correct— and it almost always was— then Main Street was thataway and chances were pretty good that in a town this small, Main Street would literally be the main street, a great place to find some food and a phone.


Dean had been searched, booked, fingerprinted and taken to a small room to be interrogated all within about half an hour of being brought in. Seemed like maybe someone higher up on the food chain than Officer Franks was anxious to talk to him. The weapons they'd confiscated off his person probably hadn't helped any. Eh, at least the girl was clean, or so she claimed.

After rushing him through booking, they left him to sit handcuffed to a table in what was apparently their version of an interrogation room. He'd seen better. This one was half full of filing cabinets and even had a window. Were they kidding? He'd been in more secure bathroom stalls. This should be fun.

Shifting his chair closer to the table to give his cuffed wrist a little more slack, he slouched down in his chair, stretching his legs out and closing his eyes. No telling how long they'd keep him in here before someone came to talk and, while he could probably slip out now if he tried hard enough, he really wanted to see what the head honcho had to say. Never hurt to know what information they had. Besides, if he booked it too soon, they might keep Skyler for questioning and the thought of her locked in a cell made him decidedly uncomfortable. To be fair, the thought of him locked in a cell made him decidedly uncomfortable, too. He'd stick around long enough to find out what they local LEOs knew, give Sam and Skye plenty of time to get clear, then he'd take advantage of the first opportunity that came his way. He had no doubt one would.

They always did.


It was five blocks before Sam found a phonebooth, the phonebook dangling from a steel cord. With a little luck, or maybe a lot of luck, Joseph Welch would be listed with a current address. Wedging his backpack between his chest and the plexiglass, Sam grabbed a notepad and pencil before picking up the phonebook and flipping it open, only taking a minute to find the right page.

Seemed maybe it was his lucky day after all, there was only one listing for Joseph Welch. Of course, it remained to be seen if it was the same Joseph Welch and if he actually lived at that address, but one thing to worry about at a time.

First he was going to have to hotwire a car, and the easiest car to do that with was the one he learned to do it on. It also just happened to have all the supplies he could possibly need to track down Constance and torch her. Of course, that meant he had to give the law a chance to clear out, which meant he had some time to kill…

And he was hungry.


Stuffing the now-empty Starbucks wrapper into a pocket, Sam blew the steam away from the lip of his cardboard coffee cup, settling into the shadowed corner of the alley across the street from the motel. From the looks of it, the officers that arrested Skye and Dean were the only police presence in the area, but he wasn't willing to risk anything on that just yet.

This was probably the least interesting part of a gig, and not one he'd missed, but it was a small price to pay to avoid ending up in a cell alongside his brother. With a sigh, Sam slid down the wall and settled in to wait.


"...I am a man of constant sorrow, I've seen trouble all my days. I bid farewell to ol' Kentucky, the place where I was born and raised…"

The Soggy Bottom Boys spilled out of the speakers, Sam's thumb keeping the beat against the steering wheel as he hummed along, barely glancing at the scenery whipping past the windows. Dean wasn't the only one with a lead foot, though he was the only one willing to do more than thirty over the limit. Sam had almost forgotten how much fun this car was to drive and it seemed Dean kept her in great shape.

Slowing, he started paying closer attention to the street names he passed, the directions he'd gotten from the cashier on the seat next to him. Before long, he was counting down house numbers, raising a brow as he got to the one he was looking for. Glancing up at the rusted metal sign as he drove beneath it, Sam noted the name, 'Welch's Auto Salvage'. Well, that was a good sign.

Pulling into the middle of the junkyard, Sam parked on a wide patch of dirt and gravel, killing the engine and shouldering open the door before unfolding himself from the driver's seat. The air around him was flavored with the tang of rusted metal, the moldering heaps of abandoned cars scattered haphazardly and the dust clogging the back of his throat only adding to the feeling of nostalgia that he'd been experiencing off and on all day. He'd spent bits of his childhood in a place like this and it was one of the few things from his former life that he actually missed.

Gravel crunching underfoot, Sam made his way to the front door of the small ramshackle building that could possibly have been a house at one point in time. Rapping his knuckles on the worn wood, Sam didn't have long to wait before the door was answered by an older man in his mid-fifties, the man's stained t-shirt and jeans giving off an overpowering odor of grease and motor oil.

Offering his hand, Sam cleared his throat and smiled,"Hi, are you Joseph Welch?"

Squinting up at Sam, the man gave him a long look and a slow nod before shaking his hand. "Yeah. Somethin' I can do for you?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry to bother you. My name is Daniel Travers, I'm a reporter with the Jericho Herald." Falling into step behind Joseph, the older man stepping out of the shack and letting the door close behind him as he headed out into the yard. "I was wondering if maybe I could ask you some questions."

"Well I guess that'd be alright."

"Has my partner been out to talk to you yet? Older man, dark hair?" Hands in his pockets, Sam tried to feel as nonchalant about the question as he hoped he looked and failed miserably. "Maybe three or four days ago?"

"Yeah, he was here." Taking a breath, Sam felt the tightness in his chest ease as Joseph confirmed that John, or at least probably John, had been alive and well just a few days before. So where the hell was he now and why wasn't he getting in touch with Dean? Joseph stopped, squinting up at Sam, already starting to sound suspicious and irritated. That was quick. "I don't know what kinda story you guys were workin' on, the kindsa questions he was askin' me."

"About your late wife, Constance?"

"Askin' me things like where she was buried." Shaking his head, Joseph pursed his lips, as if he tasted something he didn't particularly like. "Why I gotta go through this twice?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Welch, it's just fact checking." Pulling a notepad and a pencil out of the inner pocket of his jacket, Sam tried to force out a little more sympathy. "Where was Mrs. Welch buried again?"

"In a plot behind my old place over on Breckenridge."

"Mr. Welch, did you ever marry again?" Joseph was starting to look cranky and Sam couldn't really blame him. The questions Sam had to ask were intrusive and not what anyone would call normal conversation. Sam had always hated this part of a job, the lying and badgering people about old— or very fresh— grief.

"No way. Constance, she was the love of my life. Prettiest woman I ever known."

For just a second, Sam caught a glimpse of the young man Joseph once was, the love and pride shining in misty eyes softening his harsh features, which just made Sam's next question even more difficult to ask. "So you had a happy marriage?"

"... Definitely." Who was Joseph trying to lie to, Sam or himself? The hesitation before he answered was glaring, guilt crowding out the pride in his eyes.

"Mr. Welch…" Licking his lips, Sam held a brief debate with himself. He was fairly sure he had all the information he needed but, much as he might dislike having to press the issue, he needed to be sure. Besides, Skye had bet them dinner. "Mr. Welch, I'm writing an article on something called a Woman in White. Have you ever heard of a Woman in White?"

From the puzzled expression on his weather-worn features, Sam knew the answer before Joseph opened his mouth. "A what?"

"A Woman in White, sometimes called a Weeping Woman. It's an old ghost story. Well, it's more of a phenomenon, really. They're spirits." Tucking his notepad and pencil away before sticking his hands in his pockets, Sam took a step closer. "They've been sighted for hundreds of years, dozens of places." Sam found his sympathy for Joseph waning as he thought about all the pain and grief those women had gone through because of men just like him. "In Hawaii and Mexico, lately in Arizona, Indiana. All these are different women, you understand, but all share the same story."

"You see, when they were alive, their husbands were unfaithful to them." Try as he might, Sam just couldn't keep the edge off his words. He'd never understood anyone that could betray someone like that and he didn't really want to start now. "In bouts of temporary insanity brought on by their husbands actions, they murder their children. Then, when they realize what they've done, they take their own lives, cursing their spirits to walk the backroads and waterways. And if they find an unfaithful man, they kill him."

"You think…" The color drained from Joseph's face as he realized what Sam was accusing him of. What Sam was blaming him for. "You think that has something to do with Constance, you smartass?"

"You tell me."

"I mean, maybe— maybe I made some mistakes, but no matter what I did, Constance never would have killed her own children." A quiver in his voice, Joseph took a step toward Sam, his anger making him oblivious to the fact that Sam could probably snap him in half with very little effort. "Now you get the hell outta here, and you don't come back!"

...oh yeah, they definitely owed the Midget dinner.